


I'll think of you every step of the way

by Mekachu04



Series: Nanowrimo 2019 [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Abduction, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Aziraphale was a cherubim, Aziraphale was a warrior, Aziraphale's True Form (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Burns, Crowley Was Not Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Crowley didn't fall - he was pushed, Crowley's True Form (Good Omens), Discussion of the Fall, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt!Crowley, Imprisonment, Minor Character Death, No beta we fall like Crowley, Nope'geddeon, Paul Adeyefa's character is named Legion in here, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Time Manipulation, Wing Injury, aziraphale is not himself today, discussion of past mutilations, discussions of Pre-Canon, feature author's own personal outlook on religion, hurt!Aziraphale, is it still 'headcanon' if you're discussing religion?, lucifer is not luci (tv) but heavily influenced by him, lucifer is reasonable, mentions of torture, possible self-harm, smite-y aziraphale, specifically Hell and God's relationship to it, unintentional suicidal actions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21849868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mekachu04/pseuds/Mekachu04
Summary: Aziraphale worked very hard at being soft. He's been working very hard for more than 6000 years to be soft, and one demon is trying his patience on the matter, leading him on a smiting spree in hell.aka -  exploring my personal headcanon's of our fav duo's pasts, set sometime after the series ends. Tags will be expanded reflecting each new chapter to minimize spoilers. i'm not very nice to either of of our beloveds in this, but it all works out in the end.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Adam Young (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley & Adam Young (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Adam Young (Good Omens)
Series: Nanowrimo 2019 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1572688
Comments: 27
Kudos: 187
Collections: Tip Top Stories





	1. prompt: Explosion

**Author's Note:**

> title from _'I Will Always Love You' _ by Whitney Houston  
Updated on Wednesdays & Saturdays.  
Chapter titles are based on the prompt used for that day (see series notes for more info)

Getting an Angel of the Lord into Hell was not easy a feat. Not if the angel wanted to both retain their holy grace, _and_ didn't actually want to be there in the first place. And with very, very few exceptions, most angels did not want to be in Hell. It was Hell, of course, a place of torment and anguish, things that echoed onto an angelic essences with the force of a battering ram. But also, the thing that made Hell different than anywhere else in existence and nonexistence was the fact is was the one place in all of creation that was not part of Her Creation.

In a paradox only an ineffable god could produce, it was a place She created that was not a part of Her. The only place that She was not. The only realm that an omnipresent God was not in, nor would She ever be.

She could be, if She wanted, and that's probably the biggest insult to the LightBringer, is that She could be the Light of Hell instead, but _chose_ to let him be the beacon in his otherwise dark and dreaded realm. That the Morningstar's free will only extended to the fact She allowed him to have it.

It was something every demon instinctively knew; just as they knew it was best not to talk about it, lest they invoke the wrath of their ruthless Dark Lord.

So, Hell was a place purposely devoid of Her Grace. And for angels still aligned with Heaven, that severance was a crippling blow. Theories abounded that you could actually trigger a false 'fall' if you could hold an angel in Hell long enough; you could starve them to the point that they would consume their own grace and burn for it. Hell had tried to test it a few times, to see if they could catch an angel, could twist it upon itself; maybe before it even knew what had happened - could they Fall an angel and have no one noticed? Let one back into Heaven before the Host knew? Unfortunately for Hell, the very few times they had succeeded in dragging an angel into their realm, the holy being had eaten hellfire before they'd allow themselves to used for demonic entertainment.

Only one angel had walked into Hell willingly; Only Lucifer's Bane was strong enough to survive being cut off long enough from Her for long enough to 'visit.' Michael had come for the Trial of the Traitor, and had left quite shaken by many aspects of her visit. It had taken her months to shed the dread of Hell from her ethereal core.

At least, only one angel as far as anyone _officially_ knew. And even unofficially, only two other knew anything to the contrary.

Because you see, on the same day a demon walked across Heaven without burning, an angel walked across Hell without drowning.

Crowley would prefer not to think about it; as things often worked for him, if he didn't think about it, it didn't happen. And if it was assumed something would work, it tended to do as he asked. Ironically, this was also his downfall just as often. He assumed the mobile network would go down - so it did. His included. He never thought to think that he _wouldn't_ be included, so he was. So Crowley made a point to not think about the why's of their shared deception, and instead focus on that it _would_ work.

So it did.

Alternatively, Aziraphale often wondered why. He often turned every problem over in his mind, over and over and over, until he worried himself into mental exhaustion, or his solved the problem. His own twist of irony was, while he'd always been like that to a point, he'd never been so neurotic about it until he'd meet Crowley in Eden. He certainly _never_ asked aloud; That was Crowley's job. And while the demon was absolutely happy to question everything, he also was quick to remind Aziraphale that his voiced questions came at a great cost. And after six thousand years, the two had learned to let Crowley voice their concerns, and to let Aziraphale toil the question over internally until a solution was found.

So when Crowley refused to question, Aziraphale tried very hard to refuse to puzzle over it.

The simplest answer could have been that their ruse had worked because God was simply not in Heaven that day. That She instead had followed Micheal in curiosity, or in a move to protect her Archangel as she walked into the Valley.

It was a simple answer. 

It was the wrong answer.

Now, not entirely wrong. It was true, that Heaven was not concentrated in the way they'd all been lead to believe. It was not Holy Ground the way humans understood Her Earthly Homes. It's simply that Heaven and the Host are not interchangeable, and the Host was no more devoid or blessed of Her presence than any other generic place in existence. Just because She was not There, didn't mean She wasn't _there_.

And She certainly had not gone to Hell by any means. She had given that realm to Her most beloved, regardless of how it came to be. She still loved all Her children, regardless of how they hated Her, and took Her gift to the Fallen quite seriously. She'd given them a place with Her not, and She would respect that until the day they asked Her back; even knowing that that day would never come.

So, after the end that wasn't, unknown to all but Her and two of Her wayward children, there were two angels to have walked in Hell. And, unknown to all BUT Her, only one of them felt Hell at all.

Just as Heaven didn't burn Crowley, the heavy weight of Hell did not drown Aziraphale. Heaven did not burn the demon, because while he had rejected Her grace, he had accepted Aziraphale’s love, and so carried a spark of the principalities own light. Heaven saw this flame, and welcomed him as an old friend.

Hell could not consume Aziraphale’s grace, because his grace was no longer fed by the Host of Heaven; Had not since the moment he'd chosen to walked away from his platoon, and flee back to earth. Even before, it had been slowly cut off little by little with every reprimand for centuries. Abandoning his post was the final straw for the Host. But in this long time of restricted love, he'd instead found a new source of faith, driven forward by the compassion of a demon who shielded him from harm as he'd once done from the storm of the First Rain.

And both of them still returned to Her in their own ways. Neither had ever officially renounced her, although Crowley had spent much of his new life yelling up at Her. And after the wall, Aziraphale had pointedly never made an effort to talk to Her again. She would realize in sorrow that it appeared in the end, he'd forgotten how, instead trying to call Her though the other Host instead of just looking up directly.

So Hell did not turn on the angel of the Lord, because while he may still abstractly love his Lord, his grace was surrounded and protected by the love of a demon, and Hell let him pass unharmed.

\----

And when he was marched into Hell the second time, Hell welcomed him with confusion. The Hordes of Hell didn't know it was the angels second visit, and he was doing his best to act surprised by the claustrophobic halls of dread and distraught, but it was almost like being received home in a way Heaven had not been since before the First War.

The Almighty had known when Crowley had been brought to Heaven, but She was all-knowing to begin with.

Lucifer aught to have known then Aziraphale was first in Hell, but he was allowing instead his most hated sister to walk freely in his home, and was too busy seething at the blatant way Michael allowed her grace to light his realm, to have heard Hell's curiosity at his second, smaller visitor.

There was no other angelic entity in his halls now, so when Duke Hastur returned with yet another cog in his vendetta against Eden's Serpent, Lucifer felt the ripple of Hell's recoil against the grace.

It was blatantly weaker than Michael, but Micheal's grace was blinding, and this was an angel both Host and Horde already knew that was out of favour. Lucifer had allowed Hastur, and Hastur alone, to continue to rage against Crowley. Beelzebub may have been twice shamed, but ze'd only zemself to blame for zer failed execution. Satan's son might have been turned against him, but Adam still lived. Ligur did not. So long as Hastur's vengeance did not involve any other of the Horde, he was free to do as he liked.

Which apparently involved bringing an angel to Hell. Just as long as _he_ didn't have to see it, Lucifer didn't see the harm. His preternatural unfallen brethren would not sully his home for this angel, so he let Hastur be. The duke has lost the very brother who'd pulled him from the lake after their Fall. Destroying an angel was a just reward. Destroying an angel that apparently _could not die_ via hellfire, according to Legion, so one that would find no escape or reprieve under the grieving demon's administrations.

Maybe Hell could test some of those theories finally.

And so, Hastur and the angel became filed away as out of sight, out of mind; Lucifer only pausing in his day to issue an order the Crowley was barred from returning to Hell unless discorporated. It went without saying that he was to be refused a new one. Maybe, if Lucifer was being generous, he'd allow the rebellious demon to console Hastur's captured angel between sessions. He would not take Hastur's project away, but he still felt rebellion should be rewarded in some measure, no matter how much hard work Crowley has cocked up with this new turn he's taken.

If curiosity struck him, he'd ask Legion how the Duke's pet project was going. The little beetle seemed uneasy about the updates; Lucifer would have to keep a closer eye on the demon's loyalties. He reeked of awe in regards to the angel; apparently he was impressed by Heaven's newest disgrace's composure during the Host's failed execution. Lucifer could respect that, but could not allow it to overshadow Legion's loyalty to him.

What could be worrisome was that Legion was not the only one whispering about the captured angel. Hastur was enjoying himself, but the angel was not breaking the way anyone had planned. He was distraught, and prone to weeping when left alone; but when he knew he was being observed, he was restrained. And worse - he was polite.

Even to Hastur, he was unflinchingly polite and civil. And worse, he was heard to have told a Duke of Hell that he understood Hastur's grief, and could not fault him for his need to seek retribution, but had the gall to tell him he would not truly feel better, and the violence would only leave him numb at best.

Understandingly, this did little to warm Hastur to him, and the violence rent upon the angel often took embarrassing long for the host to recover from, leaving Hastur raging instead at his fellow demons in the intern. Still, for the time being, Lucifer would still continue to allow it, but he had warned Prince Beelzebub to be mindful of the Duke's rage, and if he started permanently damaging members of the Horde, Lucifer would execute the angel himself, and be done with it.

Through it all, the demon Crowley had still not made a whisper on Earth or below, only adding fuel to Hastur's rage.

\--- 

Time passes in Hell much differently than on Earth, and it's never constant. Time in Hell literally passes exactly how it feels. When you are an ageless entity, time means nothing, and there is no night or day or seasons to set a clock to. So if something feels like it was quick, it is. If something feels like a century, it is. It's an odd reflection of Heaven before the War, one that Heaven doesn't even subscribe to anymore. In Heaven, time is just as meaningless, because it is all time all at once. Armageddon and Eden exist in the same moment. It's also one of the reasons angels struggle with Earth so much, and yet while it takes Heaven so long to recall them home when they are sent out, because they don't understand specific points in time, just the general idea, and it can take decades after a job has been done for Heaven to open the doors back; after all, only the upper sphere have the power to fly freely back and forth. After the rebellion, Heaven doesn't understand at all, where at least Hell does, and manipulates it as it sees fit.

No one really is sure what that will mean in terms of an angel in Hell, but this is also an angel who has been on Earth since the concept of time began, so it seems to have adjusted to the passage as such already, and learns to understand how time in Hell works easily. Hastur wants their sessions of agony to last for an eternity. The angel clearly does not. So while the Duke gets to torture an angel for centuries, Aziraphpale would rather not, and is quite happy to only allow the Duke his pound of flesh for a few hours at most.

It drives Hastur into a rage, which he takes out of other denizens of Hell, but even those in the crossfire can't help but be amused at how quickly the angel has gotten under the skin of the hierarchy. More and more often, it seems the spectators are there less to watch an angel's grace be torn asunder, and more to watch Hastur lose his ever-damned mind when the angel starts calling the shots on his own torture sessions.

Very few demons have an imagination, but those who might be predisposed to such an affliction are starting to root for the bastard angel, simply to piss off a duke. They call out new ways to humiliate the angel, not in any means of causing the angel harm, but simply to watch Hastur's indignation in the implication that minor demons could do a better job then he is doing. Aziraphale might even encourage them, having noted that if one of the Horde makes the suggestion, Hatsur's pride will force him to refuse to do it. He himself goads Hastur about the hellfire, when the duke forgets he's supposed to be immune to it, and after one humiliation session, blindly reaches out to impulsive end the angel once and for all. Several faces of Legion are included in the onlookers that day, and they are a course of laughter as Hastur realises what he believes would have been a humiliating failure as the fire leaps at his call, and he dismisses the flames before the ruse can be discovered.

It does cause that session to end the violence not seen since the early days, and Aziraphale is left broken open in a way that takes even his understanding of time a very long time to recover from.

It also marks a dark turn to Hastur, who clearly is feeling the strain of his failure to draw Crowley out; he wants Crowley to be hurt, and the flash bastard doesn't even seem to care that his fellow conspirator is being torn apart in Hell. What had been something done with sadistic joy was now becoming acts of desperation, and it tainted this performance until the existence of Hell patronized each session less and less. Even those who did show up for the sadism could no longer see any art in Hastur's torture, and the Duke found his audience waning along with his patience.

His sessions started by carving out the angel's tongue - just for science; the screams didn't reach Crowley anyway, and were starting to irritated him instead of being him pleasure. 

"I should just discorperate you and be done with," he told the angel after one session, gored wings reknitting themselves under bored observation. They were weak tattered things before Hastur had started in on them; set too low on the angel's form for true flight. They'd been the source of much early amusement; their uselessness being the only reason Hastur never bothered to just cut them off outright. Now they just twitched and shuddered, picked clean of feathery souvenirs for other demons, back when they'd had an audience to perform for, "Send you back to those bastards above to deal with. See if anything in Heaven's armoury can put you out of your misery."

He doesn't mean it as a kindness, even after all this time. Aziraphale does not take it as such, the boredom and weariness in a plan unfulfilled weighing the words too much for any condolences to be shared. "Too many down here are forged with hellfire. Might not even hurt you anyway."

He sits on the slab where Aziraphale is bound, paying the angel no real mind, even if said angel is watching him carefully. "Got a few down here I could borrow, I suppose. They won't kill a demon outright, but you cut deep enough and hard enough, and you can leave some good scars on the true core."

He smiles here, a gross murky look that reaches his eyes in a way Aziraphale has not seen yet. In the quiet of their otherwise empty cell, the Duke croons at him with a happiness he hasn't shown since the start. Back when he truly thought he could use the angel to hurt Crowley the way the demon had hurt him. "I got that flash bastard with one once, right after the Fall."

Aziraphale shudders next to him, the words clashing harshly with the radiating _joy_ muddling his senses.

"Didn't like him in Heaven to start with, and when he was thrown down with the rest of us... really didn't think he'd survive the pit. Most of the ones that didn't pick a side didn't survive. Why should he be different? He never had the guts to raise a blade to those holier -than - thou bastards, why should he get to crawl out of the sulphur and stand with us?"

Aziraphale and Crowley both did not talk about the Rebellion, or what followed after until the garden. Neither one looked back at themselves from that time with any fondness. It was a time that both wanted buried and gone, and Aziraphale could feel his anger start to manifest that Hastur thought he had any right to share Crowley's lowest with anyone.

It didn't help that the more Hastur reminisced about the Rebellion and the Fall after, the more Aziraphale's tired mind wanted to think about his own actions in the War, and afterward. Crowley apparently had not wanted to fight. He would have been among those cast out for not backing Heaven.

"One of the blades from Heaven had Fallen down with us. I remember picking it up, hacking away at the cowards as they tried to crawl out after us."

Aziraphale had helped cast them out.

"Erased quite a few of them until our Dark Lord stopped me. Said we needed all the numbers we could get."

He didn't know Crowley then, could not remember the faces of those he'd tossed away. But a part of the Warrior - the part bled out of him after Eden - had understood on an instinctual level, that he'd likely cast Crowley out himself. Only a few Cherubs had been unwounded enough to gather up those who'd refused to defend the Almighty.

"I'd been elbow deep in cutting off pieces of the bastard at the moment. Always did hate leaving a job half done. Was pitiful, watching him drag himself around behind us like that. _Crawling Crawly-_ "

Hastur never got to finish that thought.

Hell exploded in a blast of Holy Wrath, holding cells of tortured and twisted souls burning away in a vapour as the Holy Light expanded outward. Even those of weak taint, daring to look upon it, burned away in a flash.


	2. Prompt: Delirium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Solstice everyone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a note, Hell uses 'it' pronouns in regards to our angel in this chapter. it *is* meant to be vaguely othering. it has little to do with gender, and more to do with opposing preternatural dispositions. This might actually make it more squickish for some readers, so please take care

There is a tremor running through Hell, one that rumbled through every circle, and sets one's teeth on edge. It's only a few moments later when Lucifer's quiet time of reflection is irrevocably shattered.

"Your majesty," Beelzebub is crying out, rushing into his chambers in a rush so very much unlike the most stoic of his Hell Princes, "Your majesty," ze repeats, flies swarming behind in nervous patterns.

Lucifer feels he should be annoyed with zir behavior, but whatever could put zir on edge like this is serious indeed, "Why are you disturbing me, Beelzebub?" he asked bored from his throne, the room for once having been pleasantly empty and allowing the Dark Lord a moment of privacy.

Normally, prematurely interrupting such a rare free moment would have never crossed the mind of any of Hell's Princes, but Beelzebub soldiers on, "Someone's done something incredibly foolish, and now there's an angel razing the hell-hound grounds down."

"What?!"

The angel has zir unsettled enough that Beelzebub doesn't even flinch out his outburst, stepping aside easily as he moves swiftly to his feet, "We think its Hastur's pet, but anybody that's gotten close enough to find out what's happening has been slaughtered. The hell hounds didn't phase it, the fire didn't stop it. We're losing everything we throw at it, and it doesn't seem to be slowing."

Lucifer does not _run_, but he certainly makes good time, Beelzebub at his heels, as the two work their way to the hell-hound kennels. Growing crowds of panicking demons move swiftly out of his way as soon as they see him coming. What was once cells for the damned, and strongholds for hell-hounds, is now a flattened clearing of smoldering brimstone and a circle of dust and burned occult corpses.

Sure enough, an angel stood in the destruction, its true form unbound from a corporeal body, burning bright and holy. Beelzebub's swarm protected zir from looking upon it, but many were not so lucky; its light burning their borrowed flesh, but daring to gaze upon the ethereal entity burned them away at the core instead. Lucifer Morningstar had not stood in the naked glory of the Host in several millenniums, and even he had to fight the urge to turn away. 

It was nothing like the demur principality that Hastur had been toying with, and while not as powerful as Michael, it shown with raw power that with no discipline could still rival her destructive prowess.

His Horde whisper and plead for him to save them, warning him to be careful as he continues on alone. Mere yards away, the angel turns its attention to him, a focused intense gaze with a thousand eyes piercing his dark soul, and Lucifer forces himself to stand tall, "You dare to walk openly in my realm?! You assume that passage will be given to you, freedom to slaughter us at your convenience?"

His Princes gather just past the circle of corpses, voices harsh in the quiet that follows as the angel regards him without a sound of its own. "How has a principality gotten this far into hell without being noticed by now?" Belial demanding from the others.

"Duke Hastur." Belphegor supplies, "He brought him. I believe he was planning something against the demon Crowley."

Lucifer glace back at his generals, another time he'd of been almost amused as Beelzebub looks ready to murder someone, "Where _iz _Hazztur?"

Several of the gathering lower demons turn to zir, blank faced, before gesturing in sync toward to the angel. Lucifer focuses again on the angel who stands in ominous stillness, regarding them all with a passivity that is soul chilling.

"This is Hastur's captured principality?" Lucifer asks for clarification, because the build is not right for a third hierarchy angel. There is too much _power_ standing before them. This is something much stronger than a principality.

"Iz the one that waz with the traitor," Beelzebub murmurs, always quick thinking. Ze's motioning for zir own people, Dagon, and Lucifer can hear the fear mixed with vitriol in zir voice, "I don't care _how_, but find Crowley and drag him back here. **NOW**."

The confrontation on the human airbase. The angel had been masked with a human body then; Beelzebub hadn't even noticed him until he'd spoken up against the Archangel. Ze's reported that he looked so unassuming, certainly no more dangerous than Crowley, this....

With a stroke of cold down his spine, Lucifer can see the scars now. He can see the way the head doesn't quite line up with its form, its torso too wide and large to support a single head of man.

"What the hell is happening in Heaven," Lucifer asks quietly, voice pitching to a soothing hum, stepping forward again to the angel, forcing his form to relax and seem unimposing; a face he'd perfected in Heaven. His Princes startle, yelling and begging for him to stay back, unable to watch out of fear of being burned away themselves.

But Lucifer can see now. As he makes a soothing gesture like one would to put a feral beast at ease, he steps within arms reach of the recently imprisoned angel. All the wrongness comes into sharp relief; where the other three heads have been lopped off, how the wings sit too low on its body, its missing the flight pair completely, "Brother," he calls finally, "Stand down, this doesn't need to go on any farther,"

The mutilated cherub raises its hands, seeming to draw the hellfire to itself. Whatever Heaven has done to this angel, it has been made very, very dangerous to all involved. 

"You've already killed plenty of my demons, let's call a truce."

Its voice is unrestrained, with no firm form it echos and swells, and the lower demons of this circle scream in agony as it speaks, "_I  WILL STAND DOWN WHEN NOTHING LEFT STANDS BEFORE ME_,"

Lucifer nods, more of placation than of agreement, "I cannot let you continued on, Brother. I feel your agony, and I will bear it with you, but you must stay your hand. Your God is not welcome here, and If you continue to act as Her vessel, you force me to add upon the violence inflicted upon you."

"_YOU WILL BEAR MY BURDENS, MORNINGSTAR? YOU WILL TAKE FROM ME MY RIGHTEOUS AGONY AND DENY ME MY OWN VENGEANCE?_"

"If you will let me. I do not wish to strike down a Brother who has already been crippled by those who wish to strike me down as well."

"_I DO NOT SEEK MY OWN WRONGS TO SOOTHE._"

Lucifer settles his features to his most calming, and the angel seems to relax, but does not unguard itself, "Then tell me the wrongs you do seek to ease."

"_I WILL STRIKE DOWN ALL THOSE WHO HAVE TAKEN ARMS AGAINST THOSE WHO WILL NOT. THOSE WHO LIVE BY THE SWORD SHALL DIE BY IT, BUT THOSE WHO TURN AWAY FROM BLOODSHED SHALL BE HELD ALOFT AND SAVED._"

"I understand, the slaughter of children can be difficult to bear; those who do not take up a sword are simply too young to have-"

"_NO._"

Lucifer quieted, "Excuse me?"

"_THE PACIFISTS, AND THE COWARDS. THOSE WHO STAND FAST AGAINST VIOLENCE, AND THOSE WHO FLEE FROM IT._"

This circled back to Crowley then, Lucifer realised. Hastur had been using this angel as bait for the other demon. Crowley had been an out-of-the-box-thinker from the beginning, had been a brilliant schemer even in Heaven. And, as far as Lucifer could recall, he had not seen him, as angel or demon, take up arms against anyone... minus the engine crank he'd bore at the airfield.

"I welcome all Heaven turns away, Brother, including those whose only crime was to question. Many I've taken in never took arms in my Rebellion."

"_BUT THEY MUST TAKE UP ARMS IN THE NEXT WAR._"

"They do so because their home is in danger - "

"_THEY DO SO BECAUSE THEY FEAR WHAT COMES NEXT IF THEY FAIL TO PLEASE YOU. HER GRACE WAS BURNED FROM THEM ALREADY, AND HOW MANY SURVIVED? HOW MANY CAST AWAY REMAIN IN YOUR RANKS? HOW MANY CAN SURVIVE BEING TURNED OUT A SECOND TIME? HELL IS ALL THAT THEY HAVE, WHAT WILL HAPPEN WHEN THOSE DOORS ARE CLOSED?_

_ "WHERE DO THE CAST AWAY GO ONCE YOU'VE TORN THEM ASUNDER? WHAT COMES AFTER? HOW MUCH MORE MUST THEY HURT?_"

The cherub's brightness increased, Lucifer finally having to look away as his eyes began to water.

"_THEY DON'T LOVE YOU BECAUSE YOU PULLED THEM FROM THE PIT. THEY FEAR YOU BECAUSE THEY NEVER RECOVERED FROM THE LAST FALL. THEY OBEY, BECAUSE THEIR ENTIRE EXISTENCE HAS BEEN WAITING FOR THE OTHER SHOE TO DROP_."

"At least I took them in at all! It's **_your_ **side that deciding _not_ to fight was the same as dissent in the first place! How many did you Cast Away? How many begged you for mercy, and you sent them down to me anyway?" Goading a rampaging cherub may not have been the wisest course of action, but Lucifer did not appreciate being blamed for Heaven's choices. And certainly not in _his own home_. He drew himself up to match the cherub, letting the edges of his corporation blur away, allowing his own darkness to match the angelic interloper's light. The parts of this circle not damaged by the angel crumbled and fell under his onslaught. Distant screams of terror from what lesser onlookers remained, as they took to their senses and scattered. All that remained to witness were his Princes.

The angel burned brighter in response, and Lucifer resigned himself to the fact this was about to turn violent. He meant it when he tried to talk the angel down. A fight now would not end well for either. Lucifer would be victorious, of no doubt, but could he force the angel to flee, or would he be forced to extinguish the angel's light permanently?

While it clearly retained their Mother's conditional love, it was also clear that it no longer has the same affection shown to it from the Host. Maybe once it accepted that the Host had turned their back on it (whether it chose to fall, or was forced out) then the two of them could come to an accord. After the sulphur pit, the mutilation won't matter anymore, and Lucifer would welcome it gladly, would forgive the loathing the angel felt for its own actions.

Maybe he himself could maneuver the confrontation to the pits; burn out Her Grace now, and not have to worry about a fight at all.

Before they had to come to blows though, there was a cry in the air. Faint, but speeding to them, causing those left in the circle to pause and listen.

A Cry. A Scream. A sob.

"Ahhhhh Ziiiii RAHHHH PHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALE!"


	3. Prompt: Human Shield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter three and four where both much shorter than i would have liked, so i re-worked them into one chapter instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some choices are made that lead people to getting themselves very hurt. While no one it doing this as a conscious choice to self-harm, they are also making zero choices to remove themselves from the situation.

"AZIIIII RAHHHH PHAAAAAAAAAALE!"

The cry echoes through every circle of Hell, distraught and fearful. But, unlike the rest of the voices often heard in the realm of the damned, this one is not in fear for itself in any manner.

Beelzebub's crone, Dagon, has returned with another demon in hand. However, the newcomer looks less they're being dragged along, and more like their escort wasn't going fast enough. 

Sure enough, once they are close enough to be distinguished as two separate demons, Crowley breaks away from Dagon completely, running headlong at the angel with nary a glance in Lucifer's general direction. Crowley barely falters as he reaches the Holy Light, slowing only once he has to shield his face with his arm as the light has gotten too bright for even his sunglasses as he approaches.

Watching the human-shaped serpent run pass him, Lucifer can't help but notice the change in Crowley's demeanor. The demon's stumbling on the broken ground, one hand reaching out blindly, grasping the air, his voice a steady mantra, "Aziraphale. Aziraphale. Aziraphale. I'm here. I've gotcha. Aziraphale." The Morningstar has seen his clever tempter in many moods over the millennia, but even when he crawled away from Hastur after the pits, he never looked this terrified. 

It's not a look that settles well with the Lord of Hell. He turns away, preferring to strain his sight on the now still angel who remains reticent by the interruption. The cherub's fury has begun to turn on itself; it still longs to raze Hell, but Lucifer knows he's gotten into its head, and the rage lit aflame by Hastur has begun to turn inward. It does not diminish in the slightest, however, still gaining power and Lucifer is aware his princes are having to move farther back to avoid being damaged themselves.

All others but Lucifer have passed out of the angel’s awareness, its focus still razor sharp on him. Crowley has run into the light and Lucifer can no longer find his form against the brilliance of the angel. The air is filled with the sharp smell of burning flesh, and Lucifer bows his head at the foolish demon; whatever Beelzebub had thought he could do to sway this course as failed; another demon lost forever in Heaven's wayward wrath.

Except, the angel turns slowly away, and with his distraction, the light softens out to the intensity of a sun blazing inferno. He and Lucifer both look to see where Crowley still lives, clinging desperately to the angel's arm, "Aziraphale, We're okay now. Aziraphale. Aziraphale. Come back to me angel. Aziraphale."

He is burning away where he touches the intruder, the miracle that provided his body clothes burning away and leaving his corporation exposed to the angel's unfiltered grace. But his grip never falters, and his begging creeps across the air; whispers deafening in the otherwise vacuum of sound that has fallen over this circle.

The arm not clinging to the angel is still thrown up over the demon's face, tears leaking past to wet streaks of cheek that are slower to burn away. But as soon as the Holy starts to ease up again he's pressing against the angel; forehead sizzling as he rests it against the last angelic face, body tucking close to fit against the cherub.

His corporation has burned to bone in a few places, no longer able to shield his occult core. And yet as it too burns, Crowley doesn't flinch away. His body can not produce sound anymore, so his damned one fills in, a song of supernovas and comet tails that thrums in waves that are more feeling than thoughts, more wavelengths of intent than words.

He himself is more concept than demon right now, what has survived having his grace burned away by sulphur is now smoldering under the quickly mellowing holy wrath.

The angel looks no better. Its ire is fleeing from it like the water after a flash flood, leaving behind an exposed and wrecked foundation. Without Heaven to replenish its Holy Retribution, it has used too much of its own self to fuel its rage. Should it remain much longer in Hell, it will flicker out completely. 

The Light-Bringer has three options. He can let the cherub extinguish itself, and they can all take this as a warning against entertaining angelic prisoners in the future; and if he is feeling merciful, let his own demon die with it. 

He can take the both of them to the sulphur pits, submerge each and let Hell burn away the residue marks of Grace tainting them both. If it's meant to be, he can see if Hell will take alight in Her fading Grace's place. Will see if he can coax a new demon into existence, spinning promises of letting them remain together to cement their loyalty to him.

Or, he can wash his hands of them both, and leave it to their own strength of Will. He may still get his demon to re-align themselves to him, albeit it will never be as strong as it was the first day. But it will be new debt owed to him, possibly two, and the thought of having those favours at his beck-and-call does please him as well.

The angel is burning down, no longer shining outward, and they both only still stand because they have found support in each other. Lucifer makes sure to wave down his princes who have started to his side in the encroaching darkness, and approaches his distressed little brothers. 

Aziraphale. That is what Crowley had called him, though Lucifer cannot recall a brother of such a name from before. Although, he had many brothers, and outside of his fellow Archangels, most of those he'd bothered to learn the name of had fallen with him. Ironically, each of those names had been lost from all celestial kind once the grace that sustained them had burned away.

The strength of will is all that remained of the two. Pure stubbornness. The angel, Aziraphale, had burned them both into near non-existence. Crowley was barely more than an idea of distress, and Aziraphale was one of regret and shame. When he holds out a hand to both, they both radiate acceptance.

To die together is their only remaining wish.

Thankfully for them, Lucifer is much more than the average angel, fallen or not. When he sends them away, it is with a demonic hope that they will at least try to live.

In the quiet rubble, it's easy to pick out the careful footfalls of his princes. Lucifer says nothing for a long moment, deep in thought, before turning to his Prince of Flies.

"Head up to earth, and deliver a message," he tells Beelzebub, who nods warily, "Tell our wayward Hell-Son that his uncles might need some looking after."

While not really liking the thought of once again talking with the Antichrist, Beelzebub is just happy to get away from the pure destruction, is quick to do so as asked.

* * *

Having a Prince of Hell lurking outside this particular 16 year-old boy's bedroom window is sadly _not_ as unnerving as it should be. Dog barely gives Beelzebub a second glance before curling back up next to Adam and going back to sleep. The Former Anti-Christ is tempted to do the same, but figures he out to at least see when the demon wants, before deciding whether to continue ignoring the Lord of Flies.

Their talk goes much smoother than their last one, even though Beelzebub can't help but ask one last question before ze departs, if maybe he wants to rule the world now?

"Not so Much."

"Can't blame me for trying," ze buzzes with a smirk, before melting back into the earth. 

Adam's sleep is troubled that night, but he waits until morning, his parents believing they're sending him off to school, and he simply asks the Them if they'd rather go to London instead today?

They take the train from Oxford, and Adam leads the group to the only address he has for his two otherworldly uncles. Uncle Fell and Uncle Crowley have respected his wishes to remain hands off, but Adam has sought them out on occasion when he has questions; mostly over 'is this just puberty?' or 'is this demonic?' Adam has visited his Uncle Fell's book shop a few times over the years, Aziraphale quite happy to show it off, especially since it only was standing by the grace of Adam to begin with. The Them had come with that first time, but as of late Adam has found himself making the trip alone. (He's not complaining, mind, it's just he has noticed the Them aren't quite a tight knitted as they were five years ago)

Adam saw the burned out shell of the shop in Crowley's mind once in the beginning, but had never actually stepped in the bookshop when it was in anything else than the angel's very meticulously maintained chaotic mess. Today, the door unlocks for him, though he's not sure if it did because he thought it should or if it did because it wanted him to enter; and four teenagers step into the aftermath of a preternatural fight. The entire frame of the book store is cracked, right down though the foundations, productive wards all busted and burned away. Shelves have been smashed, and books lie torn and broken on every inch of the floor. Residual miracles cling to the surfaces where they've been deflected, the wood shuttered under the impact.

There are a few spots where something tried to burn; the scorch marks dissolve under Adam's scrutiny. A few books had caught wayward hellfire sparks, but even those repair themselves under Adam's watchful gaze. 

When Wensleydale trips on uneven floor under a rug, Pepper pulls the cloth away to reveal a set of drawn circles. The floor they've been etched into is shattered and broken. Brian find his voice first, kneeling at the edge of the broken wood, "What was it for?"

Adam recalls Aziraphale's memories of it, "I think its a door or a telephone or sum'n. I think Uncle Fell used it to go back home once. I bet he musta been trying to call for help."

There are no signs that Uncle Fell _or_ uncle Crowley have been here recently. Whatever fight was here was an old fight, and what worried Adam most was that it didn't look like either one of them had ever tried to comeback after. "We should try Uncle Crowley's instead," he hinted, and the Them made their way back out to the street. As Adam closed the door behind him, he suggests to AZ Fell & Co, Antiquarian and Unusual Books that it was never broken in the first place. The buildings frame creaks and it rights itself, the foundation reknitting itself together as it should look. The wards ease themselves back together; in his own paradox, Adam could actually make them strong enough to keep himself warded out, but it seems like the wards don't want to do that, and he feels them molding to let him be one of the three exceptions to the celestial block. Four, if one counted Dog as separate from him, which it seems like the shop does differentiate. He does boost them to make it harder to break _around_ them like the last attack seemed to do; not an easy task when dealing with enemies who could fit between electrons.

"Adam?" Brian asks, completely unbothered by the bookstore's jaunt back in time to when it wasn't broken, but still showing signs of unease for the violence witnessed inside.

"I need to find my Uncle Crowley's place." Adam repeats.

"Where's that?"

"I'm not sure, but i'm sure we'll find it. Lets take the bus."


	4. Prompt: “Don’t Move”

Adam doesn't actually know where his Uncle Anthony lives. But he doesn't let that bother him, and the four teenagers get on the first bus they spot, and when the driver asks where they're headed, he tells the man, "To my Uncle's flat."

The driver gives him a queer look, but Adam truly believes that this will work - it _has_ to work, because he doesn't know what else to do - and so it does. Without knowing why, the driver ends up off route a bit, but he nor the other passengers seem to notice. The Them have no idea what the route actually is, so they don't know they should be noticing anything to begin with. The ride barely takes ten minutes, and the driver pulls over just before an intersection. There is no actual bus stop, and the driver is looking around confused, like he's not sure why he's stopped.

"I think this is us," Brian murmurs, and the four of them disembark. As they do, Adam makes sure to thank the driver and wishes him a safe and speedy trek back to his assigned route.

The Them shift uneasy next to him on the sidewalk; he's never heard the voices clearly with his friends at his side, and even when he's alone, they've never been as demanding as they were that first few days after his eleventh birthday. But he can _feel_ the voices now, like an electric charge in the air that sets his teeth on edge, and a dull ache starts up behind his eyes. The Them don't want to go toward the voices, even if they can't hear them, turning instead away from it without realizing, and Adam knows that his friends can't come with him for this part. They don't want to leave him, but he knows that this time, he needs to follow the voices, and he needs his friends to be safe while he does so.

Across the street, where the building the voices are becoming him too strong, there's a little park. It shines bright in the early afternoon sun; warm and welcoming. Once across the street, Pepper leads Brian and Wensleydale along the path, promising to stay close should he need them, as Adam walks in through the building's front door.

The siren's chorus are drowned out with a sole solitary _voice_, One that sucks the air from the room, and Adam fights a compulsion to fall to a knee under its boom. He doesn't understand the words, but the meaning behind them is crystal clear.

_ GO AWAY _

The voices that lead him here quake under the new sound, and the whispers that have haunted his quiet moments, telling him _to take, to do, to twist things for himself_, are stumbling over themselves now to warn him to heed this new command. They call for him to turn back, beseeches him to turn away, for his own safety. Its a call that many of the humans around him seems to be heeding, even if they don't know why. The closer he gets to the voices the more his heart aches, and he feels overcome with dread and despair.

_ STOP _

It's not hard to find the right doors to get him closer; he's also certain that if he wasn't so intent on _not _doing what the voices were telling him too, it probably would never taken ages to have found this place, even if, thinking back on it, only the top floor would have made sense to search. It is Uncle _Anthony_ he's looking for after all. 

The door in question, complete with a snake figure over the door buzzer, seems to agree with the voices. There's a compulsion not unlike the wards around Uncle Ezra's bookshop. Its meant to deflect attention away, making it feel like Adam doesn't actually want to be there. 

_ DO NOT COME CLOSER _

The words become clearer in his head as he approaches, and with an uneasy feeling, he can almost hear his Uncle in the words. No. Not Ezra. This isn't even Aziraphale, who wielded the flaming sword at an airbase in Tadfield. This is something..._else._

He knocks anyway, asking the _door_ to let him in, even as the voices push him to turn away. The lock turns when he asks, but the door remains shut.

_ DO NOT LOOK, PRINCE OF DARKNESS_ The voice warns him, the warmth he's used to being addressed with absent. _RETURN HOME TO YOUR SANCTUARY_

"Uncle Ezra?"

The door groans, opening a sliver, and the hall is flooded with bright harsh light. Adam has to close his eyes against it, but he can see the brightness even with his eyes closed. It's hot, not burning, but much warmer than even remotely comfortable, and he's sweating as he pushes the door open farther, feeling flash fried.

"Uncle Ezra, is Uncle Anthony with you?" he asks, taking an unsteady step into the flat, hand blindly reaching out to try and navigate a place he's never seen.

It takes too long, but the voice does answer, no inflection in its words, and with out the door to buffer, it rattles painfully in Adam's ears. 

_ EDAN'S SERPENT IS HERE_

"Uncle Anthony?" Adam calls, because he can't _feel_ the demon anywhere, and his uncle doesn't respond back. "Uncle Ezra, is Uncle Anthony alright?"

_ THE CAST AWAY ARE NOT ALLOWED TO LOOK UPON HER GLORY, FOR THEY AND THE FALLEN HAVE BEEN FORSAKEN_

The Holy Voice cracks at forsaken, and the heat in the room rushes out. The Light still burns behind his eyelids, but Adam, holding a hand over his face in protection, carefully blinks, squinting around tears. It hurts to try and look at Aziraphale, but it's the hurt you get from trying to look into the sun, as opposed to looking into the Wrath of God.

Hand still up to shield from the Light, Adam is able to look around the room better, even as chimerical colors linger across his vision. The column of Light that must be Aziraphale hasn't made it any farther than the home's entry, and seems to be hunkered down on the ground, resting against one of the walls. Next to him is what looks like every blanket his Uncle Anthony owns; wrapped around what he assumes to be his Uncle Anthony, if the singed and burnt red hair peeking out of the pile indicate anything. If it is his Uncle Anthony, the demon isn't moving, and is likely the source of the burned flesh smell that wafts in the air.

Adam's eyes have begun to adjust to the light; that and it seems like his angelic uncle's light is cooling. Dimming. The teen lowers his hand away from his face as the details of his Uncle Ezra start to return into focus; it's not too unlike the entity he first met sharing a body with Auntie Tracey. Not quite human, but starting to solidify from wavelengths and light to an almost knowable form.

He's relaxing now, Aziraphale's posture change cluing Adam into the fact he'd been mantling over Uncle Anthony. Part of him, a wing or hand, Adam isn't sure yet, stroking the soft blankets near Uncle Anthony's head, but careful not to touch him directly.

The face isn't quite human yet, it feels like too many eyes, but none of them are looking at Adam, or the demon. Instead, Aziraphale seems to be staring at something past the ceiling. 

"Uncle Ezra, are _you_ alright?"

It's not his uncle still, not yet, but Aziraphale does seems like he's trying to find his way back. Adam can see thick scars across the celestial form, and can feel the confusion and hurt bleeding off the entity. Aziraphale's voice seems to have been lost along with the Holy Light, and the eyes finally turn to him, desperate. Crying.

"Uncle Ezra, what happen to your body? Shouldn't you go back to heaven to get a new one?" Adam is careful not to touch the ethereal core; Even if he's human now, he knows his past origin is what allows him to sit next to his Uncle right now, to be able to look at him at all with any ability to understand. The Them wouldn't be able to comprehend it. Anathema, even, probably would not be able to look at Aziraphale and not go mad. But what allows him to _see_ is also the opposite of what Aziraphale _is_ and touching might destroy both of them. "I can stay with Uncle Anthony until you get back. I can keep him safe."

_"I Know You Can_." Aziraphale coos, voice no longer threatening to shatter his head, but still booming in the room even as he clearly whispers it, "_But Heaven Won't Hear My Prayers_."

Admittedly, Adam doesn't really know much about Heaven's politics, only that the Archangel that approaching him in Tadfield did't seem to like him very much once they had started talking, and they were definitely not a fan of Aziraphale five years ago.

"_Heaven Has Locked The Doors To M_e," Aziraphale continued, looking crestfallen, _"I Can Not Walk Through The Gates Any Longer_."

Adam latched onto 'walk' and looked at the angel in confusion, "Can't you just fly over the gates?"

"_I Can Not Fly_."

"You have _wings_," Adam reminded him gently. Uncle Anthony had even taken him flying once - and only once. It was their secret, and Adam was sworn to never mention it to any one, even Uncle Ezra.

Aziraphale stretched open his wings; they looked smaller than Adam remembered as a child, seeming to sprout more at what would of been the angel's hips or waist if he was remotely human shaped - which he was not.

"_I Have Not Been Able To Fly In Six Thousand Years_," Aziraphale admitted; he and Adam both looking at his wings, "_Not Since I Was Regulated To Principality_."


	5. Prompt: Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam and the humans, in the immediate years following nope'geddeon

Five years ago, he would have just asked outright, 'Then why have them?'

Instead, he sits down cross legged in front of the angel, giving his uncle the most sincere sympathetic look a sixteen year old can have. Aziraphale is still looking contemplatively at one of his wings, stretching the limb out to the side. Adam remembers the soft looking plumage from the Sands of Time, and he can see the wing clinging to his memory of it, something that was the concept of a wing building itself into smooth feathers. Aziraphale is starting to feel more man-shaped, his brightness fading almost solid, except the heavy halo still shining from his core.

Adam rests a hand on the bundle of his Uncle Anthony, but keeps his focus on the angel. "Uncle Ezra?" He, again, doesn't ask his real question, just prompts it, and Aziraphale's attention focuses to him, a warm to him now that doesn't burn, but still feels dreadful.

"_It seems strange to me, but I always delight hearing you call me that_." his voice doesn't boom anymore, doesn't cause flares of pain in Adam's head.

"What, Uncle Ezra?"

Aziraphale hums, not quite a confirmation, but he seems to soften around the edge a little, the light dimming to no-longer-eye-watering. He glows still, but it's gone from wrathful to worryingly dull, "_I picked that one for myself, you know? After I was first reprimanded. _Aziraphale_. A chance at a new me, I suppose. Possibly the only demotion I deserved._"

What Adam actually knows about his uncles is admittedly not much. After originally telling off Heaven and Hell for their intervening in the affairs of Men when he was eleven, Adam had made a point to keep his distance from all preternatural entities for a long time. And Aziraphale and Crowley had seemed to understand. They had allowed him his distance with only a parting reassurance that if he _did_ have questions, or if he felt his wishes was not being respected, that he please reach out to them; that they were more than willing to help, or back him, if he needed.

And while Adam very much had not wanted to deal with anymore angels or demons, possibly ever again, he had been touched by the complete strangers having reached out to support him. To Protect him. For Crowley having given him a chance to take a breathe, and _think_, rather than being completely blindsided by Satan himself, who claimed to be his father.

And even if Aziraphale had initially tried to kill him, Adam had understood too well by the end of the day that he was truly trying to save the Earth.

Adam, who had never wanted to see either again, had shown his thanks by trying to give them back their sense of home. And he had not talked to either again until a stupid, regular teenage fight with his parents at thirteen had him. He tried to do something with the intent of hurting his mom, and had reached out to Auntie Tracey (retired. Also, while she was amused by the way Newt's voice softened around the word 'madame,' she felt that being retired maybe the title should be set aside too) for help instead. She'd talked him down, made him see his mom's point of view, and came up that weekend to take him and his mom to lunch and played mediator while the family tried to find some footing.

After, they'd caught up a bit, her asking about how he was doing in school, how the Them where handling teenagedom. She'd let slip after that she and Shadwell had dinner with Anathema and Newt at least once a month, and he'd asked her if she talked to 'the other two' at all.

Shadwell used to work for them, apparently, but neither of them had known that at the time. He, however, was also retired, but Auntie Tracey had said that he was receiving a (very much reduced) check from the two of them still. They had treated her - Shadwell had (reluctantly) been invited, but refused - to dinner as a thank you for her help in the immediate aftermath; each had taken a moment without the other present to, and quite sincerely, thank her for not just being willing to allow Aziraphale inside, but for fighting him when it came to Adam.

In turn, Adam had given her his cheekiest grin, "I'm thankful for that one too!"

He'd asked her what she thought of them; the two tried hard to not bother her either, but what she didn't have to say was how she didn't mind, and had made efforts of her own to engage with them when she could. Once she'd gotten the bookshop address out of Shadwell, she made a visit anytime she was in the area. Both usually could be found nearby, and even if it was just Aziraphale, that was okay too, because she's talk the angel into closing for a bit (it was rather easy) and they'd go for tea, or hot cocoa, or just a walk. While she was not a licensed therapist, she'd made quite a living for herself helping repressed people come to terms about themselves, and she was rather fond of the neurotic angel.

And Crowley was a joy to mess with. Adam had some idea what that could mean, but he didn't dwell. 

The way she spoke about the duo, fond but a little sad, had Adam sending a letter to the Soho Bookshop that December, a shop little note wishing the two happy holidays. (He wasn't use if wishing Happy Christmas to a demon, or an angel clearly at odds with heaven, would be well received). Aziraphale had written back. Adam sent a New Years card. Aziraphale had written back.

Every time Adam reached out, the angel answered. And while Crowley hadn't directly written anything, his comments were clear in Aziraphale's writing. They sporadically wrote letters for the year. Then, just after Adam's fourteenth birthday, his Dad had been in a car accident. 

The doctors called it a miraculous recovery.

And that scared Adam almost as much as finding out his Dad was hurt to begin with. He'd looked up the number for the bookshop, and, terrified his powers were back, called.

Aziraphale and Crowley where at the hospital by dinner. While Arthur Young looked just fine, the doctors wanted him to stay the night to be safe. Deirdre sat beside him, and the two comforted each other after a close scare. Adam fretted in a miraculously empty room with Dog on his lap while an angel and demon listened to his worries, both reassuring him that if his powers where actually coming back, that they would help him either control them, or figure out how to wish them away again, whatever he wanted.

They'd spent the night talking; assuring him that they would support any choice he made on the matter. Crowley, who had never _not_ had powers, understood his struggles with free will vs demonic influence, and Aziraphale, who had had his revoked often enough, understood how hard it was to suddenly feel powerless when he _could have_ fixed things. It was a talk he should of worked out when he was eleven, but he saw no shades of grey then. And he's still young enough that grey morality is only something he can grasps as an idea, rather than a truth.

In the end, they help him return to just a normal fourteen year old boy, but this time, after they go home, he calls to make sure they got their safety, and to thank them. This time, he calls for the holidays. This time, he introduces them, vaguely, to his parents. Arthur and Deidre don't know how to take it, and they usually forget about them when not in the room, but they aren't a secret anymore. They aren't strangers anymore.

The Them are all officially introduced this time. Questions get asked, and Crowley answers then with all the enthusiasm Anathema gives them. 

This time, Uncle Ezra and Uncle Anthony are invited to Tadfield when Anathama and Newt come up to spend the day catching up with the Them.

This time, the Them take the train to London a few times in the summer, after the uncles meet _all_ the parents during one of the reunion picnics.

But even then, the talk is normally about what the humans are up too, with remarks about how much more grown up they all look, and how was America, Anathema? and Newton, I heard the new job is going well. How is everyone's mum doing? How are classes? 

"I didn't know you were demoted." Adam's voice is a whisper, afraid, "Was this after the airbase?" because that's what Adam calls it. For Newt and Shadwall and Auntie Tracey and the Them, it's just a place. A thing that happened and was done. It's only for Anathema and Aziraphale and Crowley that it's the end that wasn't, a buildup of stress and worry and terror with a wonderful lack of climax. "Stopping - "

Aziraphale brightens, soothing, "_Oh no dear, this was a very long time ago. Before Man was even in the garden_" he reassures. Adam deflates, not having noticed until then how tense he'd gotten.

He tried to picture that, Uncle Ezra and Uncle Anthony in the Garden of Eden. Tried to picture either of them as anything but the two playing-human uncles he'd come to know over the last few years. Tried to picture either of them with robe and harp and halo. "Who did you used to be then? Before you were demoted?"

"_A lot of angels where different then_, " Aziraphale says with a painful smile; like a memory that never stops bring tears to your eyes, "_I was one of the Cherubim then_"

Adam looks thoughtful, trying to remember what he might have ever heard about angels. His parents never put much stock into religion (they went for Christmas, and sometimes Easter, because that was expected), and Adam had looked some stuff up right after - making the connection to The Suit who'd barked at him being the same one from the Christmas story had been a bit of a shook. Adam had suddenly felt very very sorry for Mary.

He'd tried to look up Uncle Ezra and Uncle Anthony too, after they'd reconnected. Uncle Anthony was the snake- he was proud of that, and Adam couldn't fault him for that. Even said thank you once he'd figured it out. Finding out Uncle Ezra's story was a little more from piecing once forgotten comments together - War's sword mostly. Adam had read once that the guardians of the Gates of Eden where Cherubim - and he'd spent a few misguided days picturing Uncle Ezra as a naked fat baby, before he'd found out that that was _not_ what Cherubim looked like, with their four heads and four wings.

Not Aziraphale either, but Adam had only seem the angels true form briefly, shining though Auntie Tracey's body. Not four heads or four wings then either.

But then again, Uncle Ezra and introduced himself as Principality, who did look more human, so Adam figure that was just another thing the Bible wasn't right about (and oh boy, once Adam got looking!)

Now though... Now, Adam felt a little sick as Aziraphale confession caused information to look very different under this new light. It wasn't something a sixteen year old wanted to piece together for himself, but it was just the right amount of wearisomely tragic that intrigued him.

Adam is quiet for a moment, "What was your name then, if that's okay?"


	6. Prompt: Tear-stained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> getting back to that fast-and-loose with irl established dogma here that you saw in the beginning chapter. I figure if you where okay with the novel going there, you'll be cool with it here too. i'm still trying to stick with established good omen lore as much as possible; i don't /think/ i've changed anything.

Adam asks who he was. Before. 

Aziraphale's brightness turns harsh again, but Adam doesn't flinch. He couldn't explain it if he tried, but he could feel that this was more an inward hurt than the angel feeling any ill regard to him. It's still painful, like a building migraine, so the young teen focuses on Crowley instead. The demon hasn't moved since Adam came in the home, and Adam can feel that he is very much hurt, but is also both stable and mentally not present. Adam doesn't know if celestial beings can officially loose consciousness, but it's the best terms he knows for Crowley's state of mind at the moment.

"_I was cherub named Raphael_," Aziraphale answers, "_Not very creative name change, but... I became something I was afraid of. And I needed to not be 'him' anymore_."

Adam, who knows what it's like to be afraid of himself, braves a look at the light, making sure Aziraphale knows he has both his attention and his sympathy. "What... What did you do?"

"_I was created to be a warrior of God. But... But when I was created, there was nothing to be a warrior against. I was a solider, trained to bring God glory, but with no one to fight. The earth was still in the planning phases, but I didn't know anything about that. It was just endless drills and marches and prep._

"_And then, then there was the Great War. The First War. There was no Hell yet, no demons. Back then, it was just angels vs angels. Samael refused the Almighty, and Michael so called on us to take up arms against him._

"_We were fighting each other, but .... but for the first time, I finally felt like I had a purpose. I never stopped to ask why we were fighting, or if fighting was the right course of action to take in the first place. I just followed my brothers into battle. You either defended the Almighty, or you were a traitor._"

Aziraphale's light twisted, no longer brilliant but ugly and dark, yet still painful and awesome to behold, "_So many angels fell during the War, never to rise again. Celestial bodies torn asunder to be known no more. I'm not sure we ever found the names of those killed before Micheal and Samael finally faced off against each other._

"_Micheal won, and she drove Samael and his angels out of Heaven._"

"The Fall." Adam clarified. 

"_There was no Earth yet, you see. No where that the Almighty wasn't. There wasn't anywhere for them to flee to. Michael just lead the hunt, and we chased them down_." Aziraphale curls in on himself, shame heavy in his words. "_Samael found a place - a place the Almighty was not. They're called the sulpher pits, but it was something _more_. It was horrible burning _thing _that Her Grace could not withstand. She would be burned from you if you passed though it. My brothers threw themselves in, better to burn that face Michael's wrath. Their screams still echo there. Samael was burned away, and Lucifer the Monringstar rose from the pits. He laughed up at Michael, and claimed himself God of this new place._"

"Hell."

"_Yes. Hell._

"_Michael wasn't happy, but had us return to Heaven. She had us gather up the angels who'd not fought. The cowards who had not chosen a side, who'd hidden from the fighting. She had us throw them into the pits. I..._" he shuddered, "_I was angry. I didn't understand why we allowed them to live it all. I thought we should have cut them down, but instead we were just giving the Morningstar more soldiers for him to mold against us. I was... very vocal about my thoughts on the matter, and many of the soldiers agreed with me._

"_I hadn't realised what I was doing, so by that, now, I believe Micheal showed me mercy. But by vocalizing dissent on what to do with the Cast Away, by speaking against those above my station, I was encouraging another rebellion. The Archangels had to stop me, and .... and I accept that._"

"The demotion." 

"_Chameal was one of the Archangels working on the earth project. They were assigning cherubim to guard the walls; worried that Lucifer might try something. I'd worked under them for a very long time. It was Chameal who suggested I be sent to Eden. But not as a cherub. Human's only had one head, so I was stripped of three of mine. Chameal named me Principality to the Garden, and Michael allowed it. She said that.. that my _blood lust _would keep the human's safe, that I would all too willing to smite any of the newly made demons that tried to make a charge on Eden._"

"You said once you where on apple tree duty."

Aziraphale smiled, but Adam could feel the idea of tears streaming down the pillar of light. The angel regards Crowley with such a bitter fondness that it doesn't take Adam much to connect the dots.

"_I tried to serve Heaven as best as I could, but I was struggling then. I had just lost everything that I was. I was a member of God's own Choir. I used to sing in Her courts. And now I was being shoved aside and bared from her presence. In the end, I found solace in that the Almighty's plan was ineffable, and I decided that it was no longer my place to question it.. maybe God let them Fall from Her because God still loved them. Maybe their Fall was meant to be an unburdening to them, so they could find their own way instead._

"_And then Crowley snuck in the garden. He befriended Eve there at the end. Got her and Adam kicked out out right under our noses._

"_I tried to help them, to give them a head start. Gabriel was furious once everything came to light. I thought for sure they'd make me Fall too._"

Adam can hear the pain in Aziraphale's voice, but it's dropped back to human range completely now. "I was the weak link in the Garden, so I would bear the responsibility of Man's fall. He said he'd make me a proper principality, and I would serve my sentence on earth. Heaven cut off my flight wings so that I could not leave my station without the Host's intervention. That I would walk the earth for as long as it was Man's domain, and I could only return to the choirs when man's story was finished.

"I changed my name, let go of the warrior that was Raphael, and devoted myself anew to God's newest creation. Ineffable."

"You've killed a lot then, once?"

"Hundreds and hundreds of my brothers.'"

"You would of killed me at the airbase then, if Auntie Tracey hadn't stopped you. That wasn't a bluff."

"... I would have killed you, yes. I was prepared to be Raphael again, if it meant keeping humans safe. If it meant..."

"Keeping Uncle Anthony safe."

"Yes."

"Before me, when was the last time you did kill someone?"

He's quiet here, fond, "Crowley never let me in a spot to have to; not directly. I might have helped some people on their way, but never any directly since the ... "

He's almost human now, He's almost Uncle Ezra again, still bright, but looking more human than Pillar of the Holy God's Wrath that had initially greeted Adam this afternoon. Adam rests a hand on Crowley's head, pulling the blanket down from where he's been wrapped for his own safety. The demonic skin is splotchy and burnt, but seems to be reknitting itself without much need for help. Adam still gives his Uncle a gentle push to let him know waking up soon might be a good idea, taking on hand into his own. Uncle Anthony's right hand is the worse, burnt to bone, and Adam lets some of his still mostly dormant powers to the surface, encouraging muscles and skin to grow back. He could do it himself, but there's a great many things he could think into existence if he wants. And he's still standing by that people need to figure it out on there own.

But helping however. Helping is okay.

He goes to rest his other hand on Uncle Ezra's almost solid one. Aziraphale tries to pull away; he's afraid of hurting Adam, and hasn't felt the slow crawl of a new corporation building itself over him in a protective cocoon.

"Not burning," Adam assures him, holding up pinked fingers, "still warm, though, like someone with a bad fever."


	7. Prompt: Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all comfort from here on out.

Seeing Adam unharmed seems to give Aziraphale strength, and by the time Crowley starts to rouse in his own cocoon of blankets, Aziraphale is safely back into a fully human corporation.

Between an angel and the Antichrist, repairing Crowley is a cake walk, and the demon is unblemished by the time he fully emerges from his wrappings. He blinks, a slow deliberate thing that looks very much like a forced decision he's making, instead of the involuntary action that it is for most beings, and takes a long look at the company he find himself with. Adam watches the man's face piece together what he knows has happen with the new information he's been presented with, looking like he's trying to pick _which_ question to start with.

Before he gets a chance, Aziraphale beams at them both - a look that literally brightens the room, and causes Crowley to scowl good-naturedly and make a production out of miracling a pair of sunglasses to hand and putting them on. "How about some hot cocoa?" the angel asks.

Adam doesn't recognize the question is being offered to him, to busy waiting for Crowley to voice the thoughts he clearly has. Even with gaze obstructed, he can feel Crowley narrowing his eyes at Adam as he takes stock of where he is. "What... when did you get to London? Do your parents know you're here?!!"

It was most assuredly _not_ the question Adam had been expecting, and he stupidly shrugs, and rather than try and build a cover story, blurts out the first, extremely helpful thing to come to mind, "We all came, but I had the Them wait outside. I'm betting they're all still in the park."

Awkwardly, Crowley heaves himself to his feet, stalking in view of one of his windows, where the sky shows that time has gotten away from Adam, and the sun is about to set. "This late at night? Are you all trying to get mugged?" he accuses, before staggering to the window like he's forgotten how legs work. Which, to be fair, is kind of how he walks most of the time anyway. He throws open his window without a second thought, one that really doesn't look like it's meant to open in the first place, and starts bellowing out into the park.

"Really dear - I doubt they'll hear you from here, lets just go downstairs and - "

Brian's voice carries back up to the penthouse, and while it was debatable that Crowley's voice would be heard, there was no reason that any of the Them's voices would carry back. However, Crowley doesn't see why it wouldn't, and Adam cocks his head, watching in fascination how similar some of his powers are to his uncle's. Crowley believes something to be true, and instead of proving him wrong, sometimes the universe seems to just shrug and say 'sure, why not.' Adam's powers are very much stronger, even if he's mostly human now, but there are some similarities. Adam wonders if the universe is just maybe a bit fond of his uncle.

Soon, the Them all crowd in the entryway of Crowley's flat, and Aziraphale has stepped aside and watched the growing chaos in amusement. Either unaware Aziraphale is laughing at him, or just not caring, Crowley is nearing panicked mode, his voice pitching as he starts demanding they all call home and tell their parents they're okay, while alternating with interjections of how they could just flake off like that, and telling them its all well and good to ditch school, but even if they're teenagers, they need to tell _someone _if they're leaving town, just to make sure they don't get abducted and then no one knows where to start the search. 

No one has the heart to tell him at this point, he's actually acting more upset than any of their parents are, but that could be more to the smoothness of Adam's words that tends to have adults just nodding along to whatever bullshit he's peddling. Sadly, that power has never worked on either of his uncles.

The only one back home that actually seems bothered by the now early evening call - and the fact that four teenagers are planning an impromptu sleepover at their not-actually-related, parents-have-never-really-meet uncles' home- is Dog, who had spent the day with Adam's mum, since he had been expected to have gone to school that morning. Adam's little hellhound can be heard whining in that background as his mum wishes him a good night.

Uncle Anthony orders in enough to feed an army, and between Uncle Ezra and four teenagers, there's very little to be wrapped up for later, even if dinner takes ages to eat because everyone is too busy talking. They carefully avoid talking about today; The Them are dying to know what's going on, and Adam fully intends to spill the beans at the earliest possible moment, but he also knows that his uncles need to work though it alone before they start answering questions. Also, Adam is pretty sure Uncle Ezra has told Adam some things today that he hadn't been ready to share with Uncle Anthony up until now.

They watch a few terrible movies on Uncle Anthony's very impressive entertainment system - they have all learned by now that in regards to the uncles if something works in a way it's not actually meant to that they're better off not saying anything at all to either men. Because now Crowley's beautiful car needs petrol regularly, and they are all pretty sure he hasn't actually forgiven any of them for it yet - and they all stay up far to late. It's only when Wensleydale starts to snore that Uncle Ezra calls it a night, and the teens are one by one shuffled off the the bathroom to to find a pair of adorably lame pajamas waiting for them, and marched off to Uncle Anthony's ridiculously massive bed. The only hiccup to the night is the literal hand wringing from Uncle Ezra as both uncles triple check that Pepper really is okay with sharing the bed with the boys, and they assure her that they can miracle up another bed for her, it really is no problem.

Pepper won't admit to it under pain of death, but she's actually touched by the thoughtfulness. None of that makes it to her face as she stares down Uncle Ezra (Uncle Anthony does not blink unless he _wants_ to, and they all know better than to try and stare him down. Uncle Ezra however... He folds like a wet paper bag ever time), giving him her best unimpressed look.

After the Them have bid the uncles good night, Adam eavesdrops at the bedroom door, listening to the adults talking in faint voices in Uncle Anthony's office. It seems like Uncle Anthony has miracled up a compromise couch for Uncle Ezra to camp out on for the night, and they talk about the books Uncle Anthony has that might entertain Uncle Ezra though the night. Instead of reading though, Adam can hear them talk in hushed voices.

Angels and Demons do not _need_ to sleep, but Adam thinks tonight they might like to do so, and it doesn't take much for the universe to agree. They both end up falling asleep on the couch together.

The Them do not sleep much at first, as soon as he's assured his uncles won't wake to their voices, Adam launches into the tale of a lifetime.


	8. Prompt: Hallucination

Adam, much to his own annoyance, seems to be the first one up the next morning. Or. Later that morning. He's not completely sure what time it was once the teenagers started to actually fall asleep.

His clothes, along with the rest of the Them's, are waiting in the bathroom, miracled clean and folded, ready for a new day. Once dressed, he wanders toward Uncle Anthony's kitchen, path taking him past his uncle's office. He's unsurprised to see that his Uncle Anthony is awake already, but instead of rising to begin his day, he's content to remain snuggled under a heavy blanket, arms full of angel, who is sleeping like the dead. He glances up to the doorway when Adam pauses, and the two make eye contact. Adam nods once, continuing down the hall, as Uncle Anthony disentangles himself, leaving Uncle Ezra to sleep.

Adam seats himself at the flouting island in Uncle Anthony's kitchen, letting the demon work though his daily motions in peace. Coffee first, then Uncle Anthony starts pulling things out to make omelets, leaving Adam to guess what was from the fridge to begin with, and was as miracled up just for the occasion. They have until the smell of cooked breakfast makes it way to the flat's still sleeping occupants to themselves, and only once a cup of coffee is placed in front of Adam, does his uncle say anything.

"You know," Uncle Anthony starts, fixing Adam with a rather pointed look, "Aziraphale never used to like sleeping. Six thousand years, and I'm not sure he ever took so much as a nap. Then all of a sudden, about five years ago, it's become almost a regular thing."

Adam tries really hard to fight a smile, and shrugs, fixing Uncle Anthony with his best, 'I'm sure I have no idea what you mean' look that every teenager thinks they have perfected.

They have not.

"Maybe," Adam suggests, "Uncle Ezra just has finally found a place to sleep where he feels safe enough...loved enough even.. to put his guard down enough _to _sleep."

Uncle Anthony's look doesn't change much, "Sure kid." he says, letting Adam off the hook for maybe accidentally programming a sleep mode into his best friend.

At about the rate it took Uncle Anthony to finish cooking each omelet, one by one, three hungry teens, and one hungry immortal Angel of the Lord, filtered into his kitchen, pointedly ignoring the table to instead crowd around one side of the kitchen island. Orange juice glasses and tea cups littered the small counter, and as Uncle Anthony watches the growing chaos in amusement, he knocks Adam's elbow and regards his friends, "Is Brian a drooler?"

Said boy turns bright red and his friends have a good-natured laugh as his expense when Uncle Anthony chuckles, "never mind, I'll just bin all the sheets and start over, just to be safe."

Between bites of egg, Wensleydale lets slip that it looks like they're all playing hooky again, and that sends Uncle Anthony into a second exacerbated scolding for taking a train to London on a school day, to which Uncle Ezra says nothing to back either side and four teenagers have to defend their choices to an ageless demon.

Once five bottomless pits have eaten their fill, and Uncle Anthony has finished his coffee, Uncle Anthony offers to drive the kids all back home. "One condition," he warns as the teenagers coo over his beautiful classic car, "I will happily drive you kids back home, but _no one_," he warns, looking directly at Brian again, "Is to eat in my car. Aziraphale _will _offer you snacks, because he's a blasted angel, so of course he will. _And each and every one _of you will _nicely _decline."

He waited until he has the promise of all four humans, before unlocking the doors. "And if someone does find that biscuit tin that keeps appearing back there, they would be wise to ignore it."

Uncle Ezra joins them as the Bentley, quite begrudgingly, gains a second row of seats and seat belts all around. The car looks as pleased as Uncle Anthony does at having the back benches filled with children (they might be teenagers by human standards, but for car and demon alike, they will always be children.) Adam and Brain are in the very last row, with Pepper and Wensleydale in the new middle seats. With Uncle Anthony starts the old girl up, Freddy Mercury coos from the radio, a soft 'Keep your chin up when you're feeling lonely; Don't let 'em get you down' playing though out the Bentley's cab as she makes her way on to the busier London morning roads. Pepper leans up between the gap in the front seats. 

  
"Seat belt, dear," Uncle Ezra tells her, as he stares down the sixteen year old in the little mirror in the dash. Before she or Uncle Anthony can argue otherwise, Uncle Ezra turns in his seat a bit to look at her directly, a sympathetic frown on his face, "No one wants to see you go though the windshield when Crowley hits something."

Uncle Anthony sputters in indignation, hands up in the air as he defends himself, "I have _never_ hit anything."

Uncle Ezra looks away from Pepper, and fixed Uncle Anthony with a withering look. She's quick to sit back in the seat properly and buckle in.

"Each and everyone of them hit _me!_" Uncle Anthony defends himself, quickly return hands to the wheel where they shouldn't have left in the first place. "And you know that." he adds, determined to get the final word in.

The back seats are filled with muffled laughter as the two 'adults' bicker back and forth.

There's still rush hour traffic to navigate, but with no roads actively on fire, Uncle Anthony's able to weave in and out of the worse of congestion in the way only a raving lunatic, or a speed demon, can. 

Uncle Anthony drops them off at Adam's home - his mom is out but Dog is waiting faithfully for them just inside the fence. "Next time," he has Adam promise to call him, "I will come pick you all up. No more trains to London with out any of your folks knowing. Bentley could use the drive"

And it is a nice drive, when it's not. ya know. _On fire._

As the teens filter out of the car, Adam leans against the door, peering in the open window. "You both are okay, right?"

"We will be fine, thank you Adam."

"For everything"

His uncles smile at him, and he believes them. Before Adam lets them leave, he gets a goofy smile on his face. "Neighbor's got a nice little orchard. It's great for a nice picnic spot. Newt and Anathema liked it there. You should check it out. And oh yeah- it's got some great apples."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a one shot will be posted on Saturday, more of filling in some of Crowley's back story.
> 
> otherwise, thank you all so very, very much for reading, and have a wonderful 2020

**Author's Note:**

> I am not the first, nor the last, to ponder Aziraphale being a principality, instead of a cherubim, which scriptures say are the ones who guarded the gates of Eden. Given the line from the book: “Technically Aziraphale was a Principality, but people made jokes about that these days” and my tendency to make every thing hurt, I took this as our angel being demoted.
> 
> There are some wonderfully talented story-tellers that have already told some outstanding takes on Aziraphale's demotion. Please be warned before clicking that both depict some pretty severe violence being inflicted on our angel.  
[Tumblr's nekocat / pinkpiggy3'](https://pinkpiggy93.tumblr.com/)s comic [The angel and the demon among us](https://pinkpiggy93.tumblr.com/post/187077345427/the-angel-and-the-demon-among-us-part-1-head) and  
[ BuggreAllThis'](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuggreAlleThis/pseuds/BuggreAlleThis) story [The Strong Tower](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19430959)  
are two of my favourites, and i HIGHLY recommend


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